



Class_jPSl5V?- 

Book,rr^5 F_fe_ 

Gopi$htN"__ L 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




LOWERS OF ^ I HOUGHT 



BY 



HENRY DAVID STRINGHAM 



-and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. 

Hamlet 



<<«^ 



NEW YORK 

1907 



UlBRARYofCONGRESsi 
1 Two Cooies Received i 
I JUL ii^ 1 907 \ 
^ Copyright Entry 

iss a. xxcf^ 



COPY D. I \ *^ r^i 



COPYRIGHT, 1907, 

BY 

HENRY DAVID STRINGHAM. 



^ 



1 



INDEX 

Address 4 

A Toast 17 

And Thou Art Wed 26 

A Suggestion 43 

Auf Wiedersehen 52 

Be Happy 18 

By the Summer Sea 32 

Cry of the Ages 49 

Darling 59 

Fishin' 9 

Greeting 7 

Her Father's Barn 4G 

Her Poem 54 

Just a Kid () 

T-ast a Thought 27 

Keep Your Hopes a Hopin' 55 

Lrines to a Maiden 6 

Lines for an Album 24 

Lines 51 

My Old Dutchess Home 1 

Promoted 22 

Road to Eternity 11 

Rainbow-hued Bazar 40 

Still I Believe in You SO 

The Hermit's Romance 2 

The Old Dutchess County Fair 12 

To An Invalid 25 

The Little Prince 36 

The Village Sage 37 

Those Tolling Bells 42 



INDEX 

The People's Ov.'ii Campaign 41: 

The Farm 57 

Upon the Other Side 29 

Vergessen 34 

When the Trees Lay Down Their Leaves 10 

When We Vote 15 

When the Sun Goes Down 20 

What's the Use 23 

V/hen the Poet Was a Boy 58 






My 8Id ByteheSg 
i§me. 



Little white cot on a hill-side, 

Shaded by locusts and pines; 
Trellised and latticed and cosy — 

Portico covered with vines. 
Such were the scenes of my childhood, 

And tho' forever I roam, 
Naught can remove from my memory 

Views of my old Dutchess hom^e. 

Grand were the hills and the forests, 

Blue was the sky over all; 
Glad were the birds in the springtime, 

Kich were the fruits in the fall. 
Crisp was the snow-fall of winter — 

Bright as the wild ocean's foam 
Glittered the m.oonbeams at midnight 

Over my old Dutchess home. 



Tho' I grow sad and world-wearied — 

Sated with pleasure or fame; 
Yet shall I cherish it dearly, 

Still I'll revere it the same. 
And tho' the clouds may foregather 

Over my head as I roam, 
Always I'll see brightly shining 

Scenes of my old Dutchess home. 

Fair, fair were the roses that grew 
Brilliant of hue, sprinkled with dew; 
Sweet, sweet were the breezes that blew 
Over it all — mv Dutchess home. 



R®maR©e. 

As I wandered one day thro' a forest deep 

Where all was silent and grand; 
Where Nature herself seemed to be asleep 

In the cradle of No Man's Land; 
I met a philosopher, gray and bent, 

A hermit of rare degree, 
Whose wisdom had grown with the long 
years spent 

In his cabin beneath a tree. 



3 



I asked him to draw me a picture true 

Of a grand and perfect life, 
With the sweetness of heaven shining through 

The traces of earthly strife. 
To his burning eyes came a softer glow, 

And he bowed his silver head; 
His thoughts seemed lost in the long ago, 

And these are the words he said: 



''Calm and gentle, sweet and tender, 
Peaceful, tactful and serene; 

Asking nothing but to render 
Help where sorrov/ may be seen. 



"Wanting little, always grateful, 
Giving freely when she can; 

Seeing nothing that is hateful 
In the universal plan. 



"Ever hopeful, light and cheerful. 
Full of courage, true and bright; 

Seldom sorrowful or tearful, 
Never weary of the right. 

"Firm of faith in life eternal. 
Simply trusting by the way 

In the lessons pure, supernal. 
Learned in early childhood's day. 



"Such a one I knew and cherished, 
When my life with joy was young; 

And the charm has never perished — 
Never is its son,^ unsung. 



He ceased, and I knew by a gesture faint, 
That he wished me to go my way, 

And leave him to muse on this memoried saint- 
The love of a by-gone day. 



Mdpegg, 



To Uncle James and Aunt Gertrude 
at their Tliirty-flJtli wedding anniversary. 



I remember, 'way back in my first school days, 

A teacher vnth dark, glossy hair; 
And an uncle with manly and mannerly ways, 

Whose locks were decidedly fair. 
And the teacher she taught me innumerable 
things 

Of earth and the sky above her; 
Then, coached by the fairy with arrow and 
wings, 

She taught my uncle to love her. 



And proving a far apter pupil than I, 

He mastered each lesson and rule, 
And remembers them still;— but I think on 
the sly 

She favored him some after school. 
But in love all is fair, and these little deceits 

By angels and men are condoned: 
A life v/ithout some of those dear stolen sweets 

Is a fate to be truly bemoaned. 



And now, coming down through those thirty- 
five years 

or labors and pleasures and pains, 
We see but the sunshine, forget all the tears, 

And heed not the loss but the gains. 
As we look at the picture presented to-night — 

The depth of the peace-breathing spell 
Defiaed in this home with surroundings so 
bright — 

We know that the teacher taught well. 



To patiently lea,rn and then faithfully teach 

Is the essence of loving and giving; 
And success is the bourne you have well in 
your reach 

In the science of loving and living. 
And we hope that the years that are coming 
may be 

The happiest far of your life, 
Leading up to a golden and grand jubilee 

When you're fifteen years more man and wife. 



liines Wb a Maiden 



Maiden, pretty, fair and sweet, 
Why are you dissatisfied? 

All the world is at your feet — 
Half your pow'rs are yet untried. 

Discontent sits on your brow 
lyike a blight upon a rose. 

From your eyes I can't see how 
K'er a tear-drop overflows. 

Tune your heart with sympathy — 
Woman then is at her best — 

Soon your sweetness all will see. 
Then youi- \nt can do the rest. 



Jygli a Kid. 



He can sing and dance and whistle, 
And knows all the latest songs; 

But don't care a fig or thistle 

For the country's rights and wrongs. 



Ke can skate and swim, and glories 
Vv'heu the basket ball is ripe; 

And is full of jokes and stories 
Of every kind and stripe. 

He likes baseball and peanuts, 
And the girls just touch his heart; 

But of school he thinks vacation 
Is by far the nicest part. 

lie likes to see a circus 
Well as granJpop ever did: 

And it's right that he should be so 
For he's only just a kid. 



(SpeefeiFig. 



To Mrs. Alex. McConnell, Helena, Mon. 

With a breath from the Rockies enmeshed n 
the locks 

That are silvering softly to gray; 
With a light in her eyes that the tresses beli ■ s 

In a winning and whimsical way; 
With a wit that is natural, mirthful and wi e. 

And an earnest, encouraging smile. 
Our cousin is here full of memories dear 

To tarry among us a while. 



From a home where the mountains o'er-shad- 
dow the roof, 
And the valleys spread out from the door; 
Where her boys' tender care guide her steps 
everywhere 
With a love that is boundless in store; 
She has journeyed to us, leaving loved ones 
behind — 
Our gain is their sorrow I ween; 
For we know 'way out there in Helena fair 
Is a throne that is minus its Queen. 



We earnestly welcome her here in our midst. 

After years with their pleasure and pain: 
From mountainous wild wood to scenes of her 
childhood 

We w^elcome her gladly again. 
And we wish her prosperity when she returns 

To the home where her happiness lies; 
'Till we meet her again, may she happy remain 

Under Plelena's l3eautiful skies. 




FiShi^' 



anyway ! 

Tried it ev'ry style an' fashion, night an' day ' 
But it never was no use — 
There was always some excuse — 
What I hooked somehow got loose 
All the time. 

Had a lot o' fun a fishin' just the same! 
Baitin' hooks an' tryin' to figger what's to 
blame ! 
Then a dreamin' an' a dozin' — 
An' supposin' an' supposin' — 
With the shadows 'round me closin' 
For the night. 



'Taint no harm to set there fishin' on the 

brink ! 
An' you might be doin' worse than set an' 
think ! 
If you never catch a fish, 
You can hear the water swish, 
As you wish an' wish an' wish 
For a bite. 



10 



Many things come to your mind as you wait 
For a nibble, nibble, nibble at your bait. 
Nature mixes with your soul, 
An' you feel its soft control, 
'Till you mos' forget your pole — 
What's the odds? 






Now the days grov/ short and colder, 

And the sky turns leaden gray, 
And the wind — grown bold and bolder — 

I/ike an eagle seeks its prey. 
Ail the outer vv'orld is dying 

And the very season grieves, 
And our hearts can't keep from sighing 

As the trees lay down their leaves. 

For the \\'inter round us closes 

With its vnnding sheet of rime: 
L/caves the thorns, but plucks the roses 

With the grasping hand of Time. 
All the outer vv^orld is cheerless — 

Aye, the very season grieves: 
But our faith is brave and fearless 

As the trees lay down their leaves. 



11 



Faith in .springtime an.l the flowers 

That the frost av/ay has lain; 
Faith in many golden hours 

When the zephyrs play again; 
For we know that Nature never 

For a lengthy time deceives, 
But will be as bright as ever 

When the trees put forth their leaves. 



^''he Read fe© EfeePBitiY 



As we journey along on our travels, 

How often Vv'e pass by the way, 
Other strands in the skein that unravels 

Life's work like the scenes of a play; 
Who leave on our hearts an impression 

As soothing and sweet and grand, 
As the melody fair of a mother-sung air 

Heard afar in a foreign land. 

Then we lose them again in the tangle, 

And wonder, and wait; and hope 
To meet them again in some angle 

Of the great universal scope. 
Tho' the wearisome task of our searching 

Seems to wear all our patience out, 
Still hope ever burns and the heart ever yearns, 

And will not give way to a doubt. 



12 



For time in its wonderful vastness 

May gather the skein again, 
And we'll meet them in some seried fastness 

Of some other-world domain. 
Who knows what the future life holdeth? 

Or how many lives there'll be? 
There's many a span in the life of man 

On the road to Eternity. 



*he Bid 0u1i©hess 



In the fall of the year, while the birds are 
still here, 
And the corn groweth yellow and hard; 
After August's warm sun, when the harvest 
is done, 
We think with a kindly regard. 
Mid the thresher's gay hum, of the pleasures 
to come 
In which v/e shall all have a share: 
And the grandest of these, and the surest to 
please 
Is the old Dutchess County Fair. 



13 



In summer the style is Camp Meeting at 
Wiley's, 
And picnics around in the groves, 
Where the people all gather and gossip — well 
rather — 
And children assemble in droves. 
But the place where j'ou'll find every grade of 
mankind, 
And dudes who look silly and stare. 
Is where every one goes, for the best of all 
shows 
Is the old Dutchess County Fair. 

Hov/ well I remember the month of September, 

And Washington PIollow's best da3^s; 
But the Driving Park clover completely lays 
over 

The daisies that region displays. 
I'd much like to mention each happy invention, 

And all that's arranged with such care; 
Bat of things here's a few you \Yill see going 
through 

The old Dutchess County Fair: 

Pet cows and prize chickens — it does beat the 
dickens 
What good care and breeding will do; 
New reapers and mowers, and drillers and 
sowers — 
Cheese-presses and cider mills too; 



14 



Fruits, candies and flowers in young Eiffel 
Towers — 
Embroiderad and much-beflounced skirts; 
Bric-a-brac, clocks and vases, and covered with 
laces 
Are things that would puzzle experts. 

For the musical taste are conveniently placed 

Pianos and organs galore; 
Type writers and presses, and maids with fair 
tresses 

Round sewing machines by the score. 
As you wander along in the midst of the throng. 

Rich perfumes your senses o'erpowering. 
You'll find on your way, through this scene 
bright and gay. 

Many slots for a nickel's devouring. 

Electricity queer and steam power are here 

To dazzle instruct and amaze; 
Gay balloons float aloft, while sweetly and soft 

A band most entrancingly plays. 
You'll see some good races by taking your 
places 

At the track round the green over there. 
That none are seen tipsy speaks well for 
Poughkeepsie 

And the old Dutchess County Fair. 



15 



Vlhen We WsUe. 



We boast of American freedom and say 

Kvery man is a sovereign born; 
That he bursts on the world fully armed for 
the fray, 
I/ike the rays of the sun in the morn. 
To be sure we've been brave, independent and 
true 
In numberless cases of note; 
But how many, I wonder, are free through 
and through, 
As gaily thej' march in to vote? 

We're proud of the fact that we think for 
ourselves. 
And that slavery's shadow is left 
Far behind, like the days of the fairies and 
elves. 
And our country in twain was not cleft. 
We're willing to give our opinions full weight 

On all other subjects afloat; 
But we sink our own will, and go in party 
straight, 
Very oft when the time comes to vote. 



16 



Now young men, there's no chance on the field 
to display 

Your bravery, courage and worth; 
And we all hope we'll never again see the day 

When war shall sweep over the earth. 
But glorious victories still may be won 

In fighting political rot; 
And whenever you see where some good may 
be done, 

Let 3'our ballot go right to the spot. 

The farmers are coming to time very fast — 

They've been going one way long enough; 
To vote and be taxed and be sold out at last 

They think is a little too tough. 
For the laboring men, if they'd give it a 
thought, 

Outnumber, all over the land, 
Those who try to deprive them of any or aught 

Of the things that for mankind were planned. 

As workingnien thus in majority are. 

Their voles are the ones that elect; 
And when the result is not good they're by far 

The most certain to feel the effect. 
So make your selections with greatest care then. 

Your true independence denoting, 
Till conventions are forced to put up better men 

To catch your intelligent voting. 



17 



Men Avith records as black as the famed ace 
of spades, 
Vindication demand at the polls; 
They expect the machine with its dickers and 
trades 
To whiten the murk of their souls. 
But it's growing too late now to sit round and 
whittle, 
And talk of spread-eagles immense; 
It's time to wake up and display just a little 
American good common sense. 



B. ^Selgfe, 



Here's to the man who is calmly pursuing 

His even, industrious way; 
Here's to the man who is faithfully doing 

The best he can do every day. 
With yesterday's lesson to help him to know 
How to-day may be passed without sorrow 

or woe, 
And to-morrow be met without worrying so 

About things that may never take place. 



18 



Be §sippY- 



It's good to be living in this world of ours, 

To be one of the children of men; 
To be happy and free as the birds 'mid the 
flowers — 
Why should we be sorrowful then? 
To be sure things don't always go just our 
own Yvsiy — 
Kind heaven itself cannot please 
All creation at once — while you're tacking to- 
day 
Some others can sail with the breeze. 

Now, I know, we can't all philosophical be, 

Bat be as much so as you can; 
The fates that control, like the tides of the 
sea, 
Are not run to please any one man. 
But the winds always change, and the tide 
soon must turn, 
Don't rave, but your courage preserve; 
Things won't always go right if you're ever 
so stern. 
And perhaps you get all you deserve. 



19 



There's plenty of hope in the life we have 
here, 
For those who go rightly about it; 
I^eave trouble to those who are cranky and 
queer, 
And would not, if they could, do without it. 
So be glad if you can, and you can if you try, 

For all there is happiness somewhere: 
He ^vho keeps his path clear of a frov/n or a 
sigh 
Will be one of the first to get there. 

If you happen to be among those favored few. 

Who but little have felt the tide's force. 
Or your nature is one that can fight its way 
through, 
Or adapt itself to the tide's course; 
Then when some fellow traveler you see los- 
ing heart, 
Just help him along if you can: 
And you'll find of your life it's the happiest 
part 
When you made happy some other man. 



20 



VJhefi the ^ufi S®es 





When the sun goes down at evenin' an' takes 
along the light, 
Don't worry 'bout the things you want to do; 
It can't be alwaj's daylight, an' it won't be 
always night, 
There's time enough for rest an' workin' too. 
So here's a little warnin' — 
There'll be other days a dawnin' — 
An' there'll be another mornin' 
When 

the 

sun 

goes 

down. 



21 



Don't be too nmch discouraged 'cause you 
can't do all to once 
All the things you'd really like to do to-day; 
You'll do more in a lifetime, an' not be called 
a dunce, 
If you take your time to work an' time to 
play . 
So you'd better heed my warnin' — 
There'll be other days a dawnin' — 
Au' there'll be another mornin', 
Wlien 

the 

sun 

goes 

down . 

There's a lot of worry wasted an' a lot of 
wasted vim 
When you try to put 'bout two day's work in 
one; 
There's a lot of danger rushin' an' you're risk- 
in' life an' limb 
Doin' work so fast it's mighty poorly done. 
Don't fill your heart with sorrow — 
Don't care an' trouble borrow — 
There's another chance to-morrow, 
When 

the 

sun 

goes 

down. 



22 



When darkness overtakes you an' the world 
looks kinder blue, 
An' the end of all seems just a bit ahead, 
Don't lose your nerve, or worry — you can bet 
a dime or two 
That the poet knew his business when he said: 
There's a time for work an' bummin' — 
Quit your sighs an' go to hummin' — 
There's another day acomin', 
AVhen 

the 

suu 

goes 

down. 



fp©m©feed. 



He faithfully clerked in a dry goods store, 

But made very little advance, 
Till he took to himself a helpmate fair 

The comforts of life to enhance. 
The youngster that joined the family then 

Should fill his heart with delight, 
For promotion has come his way at last, 

He's a floor walker now — at night. 



23 



Whate'gfeheyse? 



What's the use of fuss an' frettin' 

Day an' night? 
If you don't seem to be gettin' 

All you might 
Of the good things that are goin', 
Of the milk an' honey flowin'— 
Don't go blusterin' an' blowin', 

What's the use? 

This old world don't need reformin' 

Very much ! 
While you're gesturin' an' stormin' 

lyike the Dutch, 
She will just go on aswayin' — 
No ones any 'tention payin' — 
An' you might as well be sayin' 

What's the use? 



24 



Do a little good each hour 

If you can. 
Gentle actions show the power 

Of a man. 
Our old earth will still go round, 
When you're six feet under ground, 
'Spite of all your noise an' sound — 
What's the use? 



IiiReg i©p Bfi Mhuffi. 



Keep this in mind as other lines you read, 
If you believe them all you're green indeed; 
On paper they wdll laud you to the skies, 
And half is virgin truth and half is lies. 
This v/orld is built that way as you will find, 
So many people have an axe to grind; 
It's doubtful now what thought my fancy 

primes — 
To prove my friendship, or show off my 

rhymes. 



25 



W'® a^^ iFi^alid. 



They tell me unkind fate has laid thee low; 

That thou art v;eak and weary, sad and wan; 
Tliat thy fair form doth thin and thiner grow, 

As ^■irgin snow the sun looks down upon. 

And we, so far away, who love thee well. 
Can help thee little; yet our greetings send 

To aid thy brave, bright spirit. Who can tell 
What joys to thee this v>-orld may j^et extend ? 

Keep up thy courage like the panting hare, 
That speedeth on till want of strength, not will , 

Makes her to pause; but after resting there, 
She is the same fleet-footed creature still. 

So will it be, when, in a little while, 
'We gladly welcome thee among us here, 

As one, who, passing through a time of trial, 
Comes safely back to those who hold her dear. 



26 



RM nih©u IPte Wed 



And thou art wed ! Well, mayst tliou happy be. 

But have a care ! 
For she who fondly gives her heart to thee, 

However fair, 
I'll warrant thee is not perfect, nor art thou 

By some degrees. 
In after j-ears deal kindly, then as now. 

And strive to please. 

If she be woman, kindness she'll repay 

In double shares; 
And if her generous heart could have its way — 

Take all thy cares. 
If she be human, she'll resent a slight 

However named: 
To honor her before all men is right — 

Be not ashamed. 

That thou shouldst ever into errors fall, 

My reason mocks: 
The stanchest bark, gallantly manned, Avithal 

Must shun the rocks. 
A heaven of happiness waits on all who wed — 

Whose vows are kept; 
And depths of misery dwell where love is dead, 

And tears are wept. 



27 



Those vows should be to thee as silken floss, 

Yet strong as steel: 
The iron her dear fingers shall emboss, 

Thou shalt not feel. 
May all thine hours and days and years be as 

A silver chime, 
And thy reward what a good sower has 

At harvest time. 



Jugli a f^hsMghli, 



"Jiist a thought," but thoughts are mighty- 
Was the thought a tender one? 

Or as fitful, dim and fleeting 
As a ray of winter's sun? 

Thought is mighty and far-reaching — 
Touches hearts beyond our own, 

Thrills our own and others' bosoms, 
Warms or chills not ours alone. 

Was it loving, true and faithful, 

Or ephemeral, light and free? 
Was it deep, intense and forceful, 

When you chanced to think of me? 



28 



Was it gentle, grand and peaceful, 
Or tumultuous, fierce and wild? 

Was it calm, serene and trustful, 
I/ike the musing of a child? 

Think your thoughts, O Ivittle Princess ! 

All are pure, sublime and sweet, 
Shedding brightness round your pathway, 

Cheering those you meet and greet. 

Think your thoughts, O I^ittle Princess! 

I/ike the flowers that deck the lea, 
All are good but some are better — 

Keep the better ones for me. 



29 



U^Bfl Uhe SUheF Wiie. 



Wliiie silting here I miss you, dear, 

As the leaves turn golden red; 
This time last year I'd kiss you, dear, 

And stroke your bonnie head. 
A warmer glow 3'our cheek would show. 

While resting near my heart: 
As winter's snow, from buds that blow, 

Novv^ dwell vre far apart. 

Through summer heat, with weary feet, 

I traveled toward the west; 
Your ugure neat, and softly sweet. 

The rising sun caressed. 
With head low-bowed, I wept aloud 

At Fate's unyielding hand; 
No longer proud, you sadly vowed 

To seek the eastern strand. 

Be true to me, sweet Cicely, 

Continue on your way; 
Together we a day may see 

Far brighter than to-day. 
Vie yet may meet in joy complete — 

The world is round, if wide, 
And I may greet all I hold sweet, 

Upon the other side. 



30 



Steill I Believe Ir^ Y©y, 



'Tis said that you have wandered, dear, 

Out from the narrow path, 
And that a life of gentle cheer 

For you no beauties hath. 
Estranged from friends and comrades old 

You are, alas, 'tis true; 
They say you take an old man's gold — 

Still I believe in you. 

Sometimes, perhaps, your heart is sad 

And lonely for an hour; 
And thoughts will come of days that had 

The sweetness of a flower, 
Plucked from a mother's garden, where 

But gems of fragrance grew: 
Remember, then, O bonnie Clare, 

That I believe in you. 

They say with wealth and weakness, dear, 

Now all your life is filled; 
Yet you had naught of meekness, dear, 

When you my senses thrilled 
With sparkling, witching, wilful ways, 

As nothing else could do: 
Whatever all the wide world says, 

I'll still believe in you. 



31 



My heart vrill hear no tidings ill, 

It ever sings your praise; 
'Twill ever long for you until 

It knows its length of days. 
And though they tell me of your fall — 

While heaven still is blue, 
I'll doubt their stories, doubt them all, 

Doubt everything but you. 

Perhaps when false and fleeting friends 

Their worthlessness have shown; 
And sad regret an arrow sends 

To mark you for its own; 
You'll turn from that m3'sterious life 

To one fond mortal who, 
Through all the bitter, cruel strife, 

Has still believed in you. 



32 



By tihe Eummep Sea, 



I wandered one day o'er the gleaming sands, 

By the ever restless sea, 
With a maiden sweet whose sun-browned hands 

Were tender and dear to me. 
With her cool little lingers clasped in mine. 

We traveled the silver shore, 
And our mingled thoughts, like flowing wine. 

Enthralled me more and more, 

I found in that form, so dainty and fair, 

Was an eager, troubled heart, 
And a mind so restless it seemed to share 

With the vv^aves at our feet a part. 
Ever searching the future with vague desire — 

Ivike a bird flying over the earth, 
To alight in the church's peaceful spire, 

Or gardens of riotous miith. 

So many a girl is drifting along, 

Unwilling to trust her fate 
To wedded life and its lullaby song, 

Or the batchelor maid's estate. 
Then she sees through the glimmering shades 
of eve 

A dream of bewildering joy, 
Embowered in luxuries rich to deceive, 

Enrapture, delight and — destroy. 



33 



And I longed to take her within my arms, 

To shelter and guard her life 
From the world and all its gilded charms, 

From the world and all its strife. 
And I pray she may keep in the heavenly blue 

Through all her fitful flight. 
And find her nest with a husband true. 

By a love-lit fireside bright. 




34 



fepgessei^. 



You asked me to forget— and I've forgotten! 

Forgotten that the world is bright and fair; 
Forgotten that the grass is green in springtime, 

And sunshine gilds the balmy, vernal air; 
That little birds are mating in the branches, 

And promising forever to be true, 
In silver notes that thrill the plain and wood- 
land — 

Forgotten everything but God and 3^011. 

Why is it that the wish v/e fondl}' cherish 

So often is the one we must forego? 
Why should the peace that cheers us in the 
morning 
Desert us ere the western sun is low? 
Why need the love we deem would be a bless- 
ing 
Pass grudgingly beyond our soul's recall, 
And hopes that in our hearts we know are 
hopeless 
Be saddest, sweetest, bitterest of them all? 



35 



Is there a line of meshCvS tightly woven — 

A silken web, invisible but strong — 
A thread of Fate, mysterious but forceful, 

Some given orbit guiding us along? 
Or, are our lives by others' lives affected? 

Can others' thoughts and ours on us bestow 
The power to reach out through the space of 
ages, 

To find and know the ones we ought to 
know? 

Perhaps the latent spark of hope that burneth 

Eternal in these human hearts of ours, 
Is like the scent that hideth in the seedlet. 

And greets us in the newly opened flowers. 
So, darling, for the present I've forgotton — 

Forgotten that the sky above is blue — 
That you told me to forget you 1 've forgotten — 

Forgotten everything but God and you. 



36 



^^he hM\e BmnQe. 



There's a sweet little face at. the ^vindow, 
Kach night as I pass down the street; 

Of all little hoys he's the fairest 

'Twas e'er my good fortune to meet. 

His hair waving back in its glory, 
To portray I am quite at a loss, 

'Tis but poorly described >vhen compared to 
Curl}^ rolls of bright golden floss. 

Blue eyes, and a face like a pale rose touched 
By nature's most delicate pink; 

And his mouth in its fair, bud-like beauty 
Must sv/eeten each drop lie n.ay drink. 

And his form and his features are really 
Cast in such an elegant mould, 

PTe reminds me of naught l.ut a picture 
Of some of the Princes oi' old. 



37 



Whe ¥ilksi8 Saae. 



B 



In a pretty little village en the Hudson's 

eastern bank, 
Where the streets are neat and shaded, and 

the people free and frank; 
North a fev/ miles from Foughkeepsie, on the 

famous old Post Road, 
Which winds its Avay past many a noted fam- 
ily's abode. 
You will find my hero living, in his lowly, 

humble way. 
Gray and grizzled, but v.itli heart as green as 

are the leaves in May. 
With a fund of gathered knowledge that would 

verily be worth 
Half a fortune to us younger, gay, forgetful 

sons of earth, 
He can tell of mighty happenings in a7ite hel- 
ium days. 
Then lead you on in fancy through the great 
llebellion's maze, 



38 



Where mid scenes of wild confusion our old 

flag he helped defend — 
Now a limp, a cane and pension will go with 

him to the end. 
Always ready for an argument around the gro- 
cery stove, 
Where in politics he favored neither David B. 

nor Grove, 
And can give you points of interest in the 

lives of all great men — 
What they are, or v^'ere, or what perhaps he 

thinks they should have been. 
See him sit and read the paper, how he stops 

and shakes his head, 
And then gazes far away at naught, till all 

that he has read 
Is fastened in his memory, digested in his 

mind, 
Where so many bits of wisdom are so careful- 
ly confined. 
Not that he's a tyrant jailor, for he gives 

them frequent air: 
On any meet occasion he will struggle from 

his chair. 
Wave aloft his stout old cudgel and these 

sentiiucuts proclaim: 
''America forever, and the honest soldier's 

fame !" 



39 



Now I think I see him walking neath the 
spreading maple trees, 

With his white locks scarcely moving in this 
gentle winter's breeze, 

An old felt hat well on his head, and on his 
face a look 

Of study deep, for all the world's to him an 
open book. 

Do you recognize him now by any old, famil- 
iar mark? 

Behold him ! Richard Gawley, the Philosoph- 
er of Hyde Park. 



*n5? 



40 



Whe Rambew-hued 



In blended hues, divinely bright, 

The bow of hope appears, 
As down the sky the orb of light 

Shines through the falling tears. 
And glossy heads and tresses white 
Turn eagerly, with keen delight, 
To once again enjoy the sight 
That often puzzled seers. 

The royal red and faithful blue, 

The orange from afar, 
The violet of love so true, 

The yellow sunlight's bar, 
The green of hope and victory too, 
And indij^o'.s beguiling hue, 
Will daszle and bewilder you 

At Crockett's great Bazar. 



41 



And pretty maidens, gay and sweet, 

Will on your hearts make war; 
And matrons, every bit as neat. 

Will sell you goods at par. 
While Scofield's melodies complete, 
For Crockett's lads with nim.ble feet, 
Will help to make for all a treat 
The Rainbow-hued bazar. 




42 



Whs^e ^^IliHg Bells. 



Toll, toll, toll, 

With a dismal kind of roll, 
That makes our spirits sink into our boots. 

We often sit and wonder, — 

Sit and vainly o'er it ponder — 
What kind of folks this mournful tolling suits ? 

Throb, throb, throb, 

With a groaning that would rob 
The sweetness from a bird's delightful song. 

They seem to be a-saying, 

"When you come to do j'our pra3dng, 
Be sure to bring your funeral face along." 

Knell, knell, knell, 

The story that they tell 
Is enough to make a stone give up a tear. 

As we pass beneath their beating, 

They seem to be repeating, 
"Leave hope behind ail ye who enter here." 



43 



R Ey@§esfei©^. 



In the little red-brown building 

Where I used to go to school, 
Which was never warm in winter, 

In the summer never cool, 
I was taught that certain countries 

Had two seasons, wet and dry; 
But our own salubrious climate 

'Neath that heading did not lie. 

That was many years ago and 

I may now be out of date; 
x\nd they may have changed the 
school books 

With the changing stjdes of late; 
If they haven't, my suggestion 

May arrive in good time yet: 
Put us down for just two seasons — 

One as rainy, one as wet. 



44 



Whe iesple's 8w^ 



On every side we hear it said: 

' 'What a quiet campaign is this ! ' ' 
The canvass is running noiseless and smooth, 

And soft as a maiden's kiss. 
And it seems to me the reason 

Is simple, clear and plain: 
The hurrah boys have hushed their noise, 

And this is a voter's campaign. 

The people are studying quietly 

Kach question, link by link, 
And it doesn't make much of a racket, 

No matter how hard you think. 
And all through the workingman's busy day, 

He is holding within his brain 
A caucus of thought that can't be bought, 

For this is a thinker's campaign. 



45 



This method of cool campaigning 

Is queer, beyond a doubt, 
But it's safe to believe the people 

Can be trusted to think it out. 
The seeds of earnest thoughtfulness 

Will not be sown in vain, 
But actions wise will surely rise 

From the people's own campaign. 



I 



46 



iep Father's Eap^. 



Whatever paper I pick up, 

Whichever way I turn, 
But bitterness o'erflows my cup, 

And red my blushes burn. 

For I'm the maiden poet, who 
Wrote "On My Father's Barn," 

That that old sanctum bugaboo 
Said wasn't worth a darn. 

Come out, O autocrat supreme, 
'Twill do you good to walk; 

You'll find this on the girder beam, 
Writ with a piece of chalk: 

"You've had your trouble for your pains, 
And you're a fool for looking; 

Go where they manufacture brains 
And superintend the cooking." 

And not because you slipjbted me 

My brother'll v/allop you, 
But for the joke's enormity 

He'll beat you black and blue. 



[Editor offered to go out and read it "on tlie barn."] 



47 



R iF©feal Wpe©^ fish©pe 



In hopefulness she crossed the sea, 
Nor feared the autumn vs'eather, 

Oft musing of a new fireside — 
Her loved ones all together. 

And often on the waters broad 
Her mother's heart would swell, 

With mingled pride and happiness 
That mothers know so well. 

As round her knees her little ones 
With eager questions pressed, 

Of that great land where soon they'd be 
By a father fond caressed. 

What rosy thoughts have thronged her 
brain ! 

How bright her future seemed ! 
What loving plans she softly wove ! 

What soothing dreams she dreamed ! 

Bat now she stands in helplessness — 
Those yearning childish eyes, 

Burning their way to her crushed heart, 
As she tries to hush their cries — 



48 



At last in fair America, 

lyand of her hopes and prayers, 
The seeds of her aspirations 

Bearing a crop of tares. 

She safely crossed the ocean wide, 
When storms were sweeping o'er, 

To meet in all its frightfulness 
A total wreck ashore. 

For the husband that she came to meet 

Died as she rode the wave; 
And all her hope of happiness 

L/ies bm-ied in the grave. 

And shall she leave our bounteous land 
With heart-strings straining thus? 

Or shall her anguish softer grow 
When she remembers us? 



49 



dwY ©i fehe Mges, 



It's the same old cry of the ages, 

Come dowu through the long ago, 
From the hearts of kings and sages. 

And breasts of lowly and lovf; 
The same old sigh for the "might have been" — 

The pain we can hardly bear — 
That wrings our soula with anguish when 

Our hopes have met despair. 

The weariness, oh, and the sadness 

Of the things we could not do ! 
The sweetness, ah, and the gladness 

Of the things we never knew 1 
We overlook much that is ours to-day, 

And picture all we have missed; 
We grieve for the love that came not our way. 

And the lips that we never kissed. 



50 



There's a longing for things that couldn't be, 

And it's hard to fight it down; 
A craving that gnaws remorselessly 

'Neath Fortune's seeming frown. 
Yet under it all there is something just 

And right, if we only knew; 
Or our wilful hearts would let us trust 

In the Power that's ne'er untrue. 

There's a lesson in every mishap we meet. 

That tends toward something good ; 
And the future will shov»7 our straying feet 

The path w^e misunderstood. 
When the road is dark, if we patiently wait 

And quietly feel our way, 
A spark will come from the Golden Gate 

And lead to a brighter day. 



51 



liiHes. 



Hope ever cheers the human breast, 

And mine is human, surel}'; 
I am hoping, hoping, hoping — 

Will it end in hoping, purely? 
Is there then no balm in Gilead? 

If the future I could know, 
Would a rose and violet memory 

Be the best that Fate could show? 



52 



Myf Wiedepsehe^ 



Just as the flowers are come into bloom, 

Just as the birds are uniting, 
Just as all nature, on mountain and plain. 

Our fervent regard is inviting, 
Just as the season of mirth and delight 

Is opening gaily to view, 
And other bright beauties are coming our way, 

Why is it we have to lose you? 

Ah well! there's most always a cloud in the sky, 

And often a rift in the lute; 
And always there seems to be something 
awry — 

We mortals are so hard to suit. 
But pleasures are sweeter if tempered with pain. 

There's never an unalloyed bliss: 
Our sweethearts grow saucy, and turn us away, 

Just when we are sure of a kiss. 



53 



But blossoms must fade in the springtime, 
you know, 
That we may have fruits in the fall; 
The summer's sad loss is the autumn's rich 
gain, 
And we needn't despair after all. 
There's a happier word than the solemn 
good bye, 
And when you sail over the sea, 
Auf Wiedersehen, Fraulein, is all we shall 
say, 
Auf Wiedersehen, Fraulein Becke. 



54 



§ep W@ewi. 



Three little stanzas of poetry rare 

Before me lie now as I write, 
Underscored often with maidenly care 

By fingers fair, fragrant and white. 

And fares she well now ? Or how runs her 
life? 

Are questions that oft come to me. 
And does she remember these lines so rife 

With wit not from mockery free. 

Surely she does — 'twas but few years ago 
They came, and she doubtless would 
smile, 

Indulgently now if she could but know, 
They've gone with me many a mile. 

Married and happy perhaps she may be, 

Or lovers may still at her feet 
Kneel, waiting and hoping a smile to see, 

That shall fill them with rapture complete. 

Beauty like hers is remembered for aye, 
The press of her lips for all time. 

Waves of great tenderness over me play 
At finding her bright little rhyme. 



55 



Keep Y©yp i©peg 



Everybody's always teliin' us to cheer up an' 
be gay, 
An' we mostly try to do the best we can; 
But there somehow seems to be some things 
that go wrong any way, 
It's been so since this good old world began. 
But that ain't any argument for gettin' blue 
an' glum, 
Look around for things that make you want 
to smile; 
Here's a little bit o' wisdom that ought to 
help out some: 
Just keep your hopes a-hopin' all the while. 



56 



Everybody's tired o' logic, an' two an' two 
makes four 
Is true, but don't help much when we're 
perplexed; 
Lookin' pleasant is a duty when we're in the 
picture store, 
But it's mighty hard to do it when we're 
vexed. 
The best of us, from time to time, may get a 
little jar, 
So listen to the moral of my rhyme: 
You'll escape a lot o' worry, and be happier 
by far, 
If you keep your hopes a-hopin' all the time. 



^f]^^ 

^U^^ 



57 



However far we wander, or how wide 
Our duties take us from the old fireside; 
Whether we're urged by spirit of unrest, 
To travel toward the ever-busy west, 
Whose cities throb with commerce, and the life 
Of trade and competition's eager strife; 
Whose acres, broad and rich v/ith golden wealth > 
Fit recompense to work and ruddy health: 
Or, far from man's deceit and woman's pride, 
We seek for countries still unoccupied, 
By thrifty husbandman, or herder bold. 
Or miner in his search for tempting gold: 
Or whether eastern shores our fancies terapt, 
In quest of lands from ills and care exempt: 
Or north, or south, or warmth, or cold we try, 
Our changing natures' wants to satisfy: 
Whene'er we sit and muse with mind at ease, 
And let our fancies wander where they please, 
How often do they all our senses charm, 
And lead our memories back to that old farm. 



58 



When tehe E'©e1i was 
a B©Y- 



With a pair o' sagging trousers, 

And a simple cotton sliirt, 
And a home-made pair o' "galluses" 

Elastic M'Ouldn't hurt; 
An' not another stitch o' clothes, 

Except an old straw hat, 
An' you've got a happy j^oungster — 

Now what do you think o' that? 

You could see him in the mountains, 

An' you'd find him on the plains. 
Where he grew up strong an' thrifty 

Among the waving grains. 
His feet were close to nature, 

An' his heart was full o' joy; 
An' everything was lovely 

When the poet was a boy. 



59 



Bapling 



I called her darling in that brief spell, 

When the world with hope was filled, 
And all the strife from the depths of hell 

To the heights of heav'n was stilled. 
A mute suspense enthralled the air, 

Kxistance held its breath, 
And love was there and joy was there 

In sweetness deep as death. 

Then the world took up its course once 
more, 

Nor recked the awful cost, 
For while that moment floated o'er 

I loved, and lived, and lost. 
From now until the shadows call 

Me from the realms of men, 
That dearest, sweetest word of all 

I'll never use again. 



